The Silver In Her Eye

CHAPTER 5

Chapter 5

Every couple months, Avreale would visit Nixiton. She could not ever allow herself to be visible, so she would just sit on a nearby hill, or in a tree. She would just sit there and watch.

But she usually needed some fresh supplies. So at night, when all was quiet, she would sneak around and visit the Blacksmith's shop and her father's shop. They knew that she always can on the 5th day of every 3 months. So whenever she got there, there would always be a small pile of various items set aside for her.

On this specific trip though, she was greeted by a terrifying surprise.

Thorn bushes tore at her skin, as Avreale made her way through the forest, trying to get as far away from the cave as possible.

It was the 17th day of the every 3 months, and she was late. She could only hope that she could still find some things that were actually useful that could help her survive longer.

How worried could her father be? Maybe he expected to find her dead body carelessly laying around on his next trip to the forest for wood. Maybe he expected that she would have been torn up by a beast of the night, or maybe an arrow through the heart by one of the King's soldiers.

Crouching down low, Avreale made her way among the outer edge of Nixiton. She despised almost everyone. They were all safely tucked in their warm beds, while Avreale was out here in the cold, risking her own life, to gather some supplies that might make her life last even a little bit longer.

Her father's shop had no lights on, but the door was unlocked and open a small centimeter. Either someone had broken in, or her father trusted the Avreale would still come, even if late.

Upon entering the shop, the door squeaked like a mouse, signifying that the hinges were in desperate need of an oiling. Avreale froze and squeezed her eyes tightly together, standing as still as a statue. She waited for someone to barge in and arrest her. But no one came.

Avreale let out a sigh of relief. She sulked through the shop slowly, carefully examining how much the shop had changed overtime since she had last been here.

The shop was rich with the scent of burnt wood and pine needles. What home smelt like. Abnormal wood carvings covered almost every inch of existing space. Things that you could probably only find in figments of your imagination. These things existed in her father's rather unusual one.

They were not random shapes. But instead they were her father's depictions of mysterious creatures that only existed in the tales. You know, the tales told before bedtime.

Some full of beautiful, gruesome horror and enchantment. Some just plain beautiful. But they all had one thing in common.

Each tale had a happy ending.

The dragon that sat on a shelf, high up on the right side of the shop. It was said that it guarded the King's gold, dawn until dusk, with no breaks. It was a punishment laid down by the King himself to the person who foolishly attempted to steal from him. A princess broke the spell for him. And they got married, living happily ever after.

Other creatures filled shelves: elves, fairies, dwarfs, brownies, goblins. Well Avreale's fathers depiction of them.

She wandered aimlessly, skimming her hands past the racks and shelves. She missed this place. A major chunk of her childhood happened right here:

Avreale met Rowan and his father for the first time here.

Whenever she was frightened by the village's children, Rowan would comfort her in the corner, clutching in their hands either a cuppa cocoa, or a chunk of Havarti cheese.

When she dislocated her shoulder - clumsily falling out of a tree - Rowan held her hand, while the village healer reset it.

Where Avreale comforted Rowan, seeing him cry for the very first time, when his mother left him and his father.

Rowan and her would spend their time trying to carve a replica of her father's figurines, but they never got close.

All these memories all lead back to one person, Rowan.

Avreale sighed tiredly. After wandering around the shop, she did not realize that the sun was just about to rise. She had better hurry it up if she wanted to escape.

On the front counter - in probably one of the only places not occupied by wooden figurines - laid a bulky russet satchel. Avreale gingerly picked it up, as if something might crawl out of it and attack her.

She did not bother to even peek inside the satchel. She was in too much of a haste to get out of there.

Out of the door and along the storefronts. The sun rose quickly, beaming on Avreale so that she had to shade her eyes away. Facing away from the sun, she skittered past stores until she made it to the Blacksmith's shop.

She rattled the door handle. It was locked. She sighed frustrated. The one thing that she needed was a new hunting knife. Her other one was left behind at the cave in the flurry of chaos to get out of there, and she refused to go back there.

All though, maybe she could go back to her old cottage? Well what was left of it that is.

Sighing, she skittered her way along quickly until she found herself slowly wandering down the road that lead to her burnt down home.

Once she got there, Avreale ambled and rummaged through the wreckage. This was her first time here up close since it had been burned down.

During her search, she stumbled upon a few goods that were useful and still in decent shape. A waterskin, and a slightly frayed blanke, but sadly no hunting knife.

Packing these items in her bag, she also came upon a parchment with the edges slightly scorched. On the top said 'Avreale" in a scrawl that she recognized.

Avreale,

I am sorry to have to be the one to inform you of this, especially through a letter. But you are in grave danger. You always were.

Your father, who I am sorry to say, disappeared in the fire that burned down your home. He was after a specific journal that holds the key to your true past. Sad to say that it some how disappeared at the same time your father did.

As for Rowan, well that I refuse to tell you through this letter. I will only allow myself to tell you about Rowan in person.

I am truly sorry again,

Eric

Eric was Rowan's father, and like a second father to Avreale. He was also the Blacksmith of Nixiton and the one who created Avreale's sword.

"What?" Avreale whispered out loud to herself.

"Rowan is a traitor," a masculine voice said from behind her.

Avreale spun around, frightened.

It was Eric. "Wh-what?" she asked him in bewilderment.

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